


curious. (and curioser).

by 200percent_inlove



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Angst and Romance, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Happy Birthday Ryuji!, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/200percent_inlove/pseuds/200percent_inlove
Summary: "For real" becomes "Is he treatin’ you all right?"Yes is her default answer."What the shit" becomes "Tell me if he ain’t, okay?"Okay, she says.And "Yo, you busy today?’ becomes "You goin’ on a date today, huh? S’all good. Let’s grab food another day."Or, the few times where Ryuji tells lies, and that one time where he carelessly lets Ann catch him red-handed. Post-Persona AU.





	curious. (and curioser).

**Author's Note:**

> Happiest of birthdays to you, Ryuji. Even though you're SO stubborn and rude sometimes, your undeniable loyalty to your friends and your loved ones is so admirable and I love you SO much for that. <3 You're such a sweetheart, ugh. I'm so glad you have so many fans that appreciate you, and I hope you get to show us more of your good qualities in P5R! 
> 
> I wrote this with https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v2eN3RzzQdo in mind LOL (YEY, MORE K-POP). Albeit, it is a very sad break-up song, but the overall mood and tone suits this story perfectly.
> 
> RyuAnn are one of my favourite OTPs in P5, but in my headcanons, them getting together doesn't exactly go smoothly. But inevitably, they do - and well, what can I say? They manage to bring out the best in each other.
> 
> My main concern here is that I hope I didn't make Ryuji too out-of-character ^^; Nonetheless, please enjoy!

“I want to try dating someone.”

The words leave Ann Takamaki's hesitant, coral-pink lips in a soft whisper, drifting through the noisy hustle and bustle of their favourite _ramen_ joint and disappearing altogether with the hazy white steam wafting between them.

He doesn’t react, she notes with a resentful frown on her face. Why isn’t he saying anything? Not even a snarky, _‘I knew it!’_ or something characteristically in-your-face, like his trademark _‘for real’_?

Or, maybe he _did._ Maybe that’s why his warm brown eyes seemed to twinkle for the briefest second with suspicion. Or that his knuckles seemed to tighten as his fingers – nicked and lacerated here and there from clumsy papercuts – clutching the edge of his bowl. Or that his back seemed to stiffen like a board.

(No, she’s expecting too much.)

This is _Ryuji_ , after all. And him being Ryuji, the only thing that he tends to care about is the number of fried _gyoza_ that he can stuff down his damn ~~(handsome)~~ face. So, she sets her chopsticks onto the wooden counter, a little more forceful than intended, and determinedly repeats those six words once again with an added thwack to his head and a lowered tone, tinted with disapproval.

“Hey! Didn’t you hear me? _Say_ something!”

 

* * *

 

She didn’t need to repeat herself. God _damn_ , this woman.

Ryuji Sakamoto heard it, clear as day. It’s just that he stupidly chose to pretend that he never heard it. And frankly, as he presses his palms together and sends her a silly, apologetic smile that she accepts in a heartbeat, he’s not even sure _why_ he did that. 

To say that he’s caught off-guard is an understatement, which is strange, with all things considered. He’s no longer surprised by petty things, especially after his year-long stint of wreaking havoc with his spiked metal bat in the Metaverse. He’s had enough practice against those sudden assaults.

But to be taken aback by _her_ (Or, not necessarily her:  Maybe just her _words_?).

Well, there’s always a first for everything.

His hand, originally hovering in mid-air with a hearty heap of noodles twisted around the wooden chopsticks, falls slack to the tabletop, and he cranes his head, slowly, carefully, to meet her expectant gaze. He’s apprehensive; unsure of what to say. Words of wisdom? No, that’s what Makoto’s for.  Maybe she needs tips on how to be less overbearing during a first date?

~~(Which isn’t necessary:  She’s cute enough as is.)~~

He folds his hands underneath his chin and picks out bits and pieces of words to form a coherent sentence, ensuring it remains neutral. Keep it levelled, just so she won’t get offended for once.

“Uh, alright.” She inches closer, and Ryuji sees the question marks deep within the turquoise blue. Was there more she wanted from him? “Well, uh – congrats, I guess?”

The awkward, stilted pause that commences afterward leaves Ryuji uncomfortable. At the very least, shouldn’t _she_ snipe back with an insult that he would never get a girlfriend if he continued this aloofness? He’s heard it many times. He’s a man; he can take it.

But she doesn’t. Instead, they both turn their attention back to their salty broths.

Ann mutters something vague with a faint blush on her face (Or is that just from the heat radiating from the stove?):  Stupid remarks about having to watch her weight, excessive calories and what not.

Ryuji shovels a large bite – much too big, frankly – into his mouth with a noisy, crass slurp. Except, it catches in the back of his throat, refusing to continue its downward trajectory into his stomach. It’s a little difficult to swallow, but whether it was from Ann’s sudden declaration to venture into the world of first loves and flirtatious banter, or from the noodles not being well-cooked, it’s a troubling mystery.

(He firmly decides that it’s the latter.) 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s unnaturally silent when they leave. He pays for their tab, even though she knows he shouldn’t be wasting his money. If memory serves her right, he’s been saving up for a brand-new video game about a Yakuza gang and a retired detective.  

“Save it for somethin’ pretty to impress.” Underneath the moonlight illuminating their path back to Shibuya Station, their footsteps eventually coalesce into a single march, the soles of their shoes crackling against the pavement. Until that moment where he could no longer hold back his curiosity.

“What’s the rush?”

Ann shoots him a withering look, almost judgmental, so he tries to keep the atmosphere light, adding a joke here and there alongside an outburst of laidback laughter. “Whatcha lookin’ at me like that for? I’m just wonderin’ if you’re dead set on findin’ your husband in high school!”

No, she clarifies with a beautiful faded pink blooming on her face, and she lunges forward to pinch his cheek. It’s a knee-jerk reaction that the blonde has masterfully learned to evade, grabbing at her wrist wildly in return. Play fighting is _‘so immature and so middle school’_ , Ann often comments while Makoto looks on in exasperation, but Ryuji has no qualms about it. It’s exclusively _their_ thing. “Ugh, stop _laughing_!”

It wasn’t decided on a whim, she confesses in sheer embarrassment. “I thought about this.”

“For a long time, huh?”

“Shut **_UP_**!” Apparently, she’s consulted Shiho, too. And eventually, she had decided that she wanted to experience a high school romance before their senior year came to a close.

Casually throwing his arms behind his head, he sniggers, “Gotcha. You wanna live out a Kimi ni Todoke thing, huh?”

Ann is no shy, soft-spoken Sawako. Not even close, but Ryuji’s imagination runs rampant at the visual image of her with a man of similar caliber to the strikingly handsome Kazehaya (Hey, isn’t that just _Ren_ , then? He fits the physical description):  Someone kind and gentle; someone with a dignified way to his words; someone charismatic. The thought amuses him, but only briefly, dissolving into nothingness soon after. The reality is, that fantasy isn’t _too_ far-fetched.

Ann’s a good girl after all, deserving of someone equally good – if not better. Somehow, the hearty rumble of a laugh that vibrates deep within his chest after sounds – and _feels_ – fake, and he’s not sure why.

She’s fuming again, looking utterly adorable whilst doing so. “You're making fun of me!”

“Hey, I ain’t judgin’,” He adds hastily. “But you know, Ann.” A gentle grin curves smoothly on his lips. “Ya don’t need my permission to date. Like whoever you wanna like.”

“Ryuji.” The hint of admiration in her voice is unmistakable when she calls out his name. “You _actually_ sound cool for once.” This time, it’s her turn to grin when he turns away, the edges of his ears glowing tomato-red. He tucks a clenched fist deep into the pocket of his uniform blazer (That damn hole needs repair), and kicks a lone pebble with his foot, watching it skip down the empty street in a clatter until it disappears behind a tiny, dry shrub.

Compliments like that don’t come often, and he’s now a little bit wiser, knowing that extra validation isn’t necessary anymore. But when it comes from her, well, the flattery _does_ get her somewhere.   

“Also, what the hell, Ryuji!” She smacks him once more on the upper arm, pouting her lower lip out cutely. “I don’t need your permission to do whatever I want, sheesh! I just want you to like the guy, too!”

“No _yaoi_ shit. Got it?”

“What do you take me for!?” Albeit, her eyes soften when she says, “You’re my friend.” And it grows even softer when she adds, “Your opinion matters.”

She’s not wrong: A second opinion _is_ important ~~(But his? It sounds too laughable)~~. So, when he sees her to the gateway to her platform, he begrudgingly agrees to her request to provide insight where needed.

“’Kay, but like, what if I _really_ hate that dude’s guts?” He calls out as he watches her descend the escalator. “Like, to the point of Kamo-mophead hate?”

“Well, obviously, I would expect you to tell me!”

They stand on opposite sides of the platform; he’s heading towards Ikebukuro, while she’s returning to Ueno. A rushing blur of metallic-silver and light-yellow passes by before he can wave good-bye, but soon enough, Ryuji spots the platinum-blonde pressing up against the window, mouthing ‘ _See you_ ’ with a lighthearted smile on her face before fading into a messy blur of muted yellows and blacks, disappearing into the depths of the dark tunnel altogether. 

The robotic voice booms loudly overhead, announcing the arrival of the next train. Even so, he doesn’t step on. That boyish smile he kept plastered thins out into a firm line. Taking a glance at his scuffed sneakers, he then looks up into the dim, flickering lights above with frazzled eyes.

Their final year of high school as seniors will be starting soon.

 ~~(Ann)~~ _They’re_ growing up. They’ll get their licenses; apply for college; graduate with tearful good-byes and promises to see each other again.

~~(And start dating, maybe start a family. Ann’s just getting a head start.)~~

It’s too sudden. Too much to take in at one go.

The most mindboggling of all: When – and how, exactly – did he start to lag behind Ann? Funny. He’s supposed to be the renowned track team all-star.

Rather, it feels as if Ann’s overtaken him by a mile now.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is, Ann – like most young girls learning the ropes on how to fall in love for the first time – have impeccably impossible standards. She’s into idols (Particularly an up-and-coming Korean boy band with catchy songs sung in horribly pronounced Japanese), and she’s played too many video games featuring attractive 2D characters that makes Futaba croon a childish ‘UWU’ on the daily.

Obviously, she’ll be picky.

Some of her ‘pursuers’ (For lack of a better term) sees this as a negative attribute. Ryuji, however, sees her choosiness as defensible behaviour. Sure, she’s a little ditzy and a bit of an airhead. Plus, she doesn’t study well (Not that Ryuji should be reprimanding her about that), and she doesn’t always have her shit together like the dignified Miss Ex-Prez.

Despite all that, her heart’s in the right place, overflowing with compassion virtually incomparable to anybody he’s ever known, and a mercifulness that she offers even to the scummiest pieces of trash when they were the least deserving of it. It’s both a weakness and a strength, Ann confides in him one night after a study session at the diner, but Ryuji argues that it’s more so a strength. A great one, too, actually – it's difficult staying kind, even in moments where the simplest solution would be to concede to the negativity. 

Now, if only he could do the same.

Ryuji knows him _well:_ He’s an ex-member of the track team. The dark-haired boy with even darker eyes to compliment a healthy, sun-kissed complexion. But he’s also got a bit of a temper, and he’s somewhat rough around the edges ~~(Just like himself)~~. That hand limply holding hers: It’s grazed his own arm several years prior, leaving a permanent scar on his elbow as a reminder of his shortcomings from the day the track team was pulled. Gritting his teeth together at the painful memory, Ryuji yanks his blazer sleeve down and stabs at his untouched lunch box. Mishima doesn’t dare say much – frankly, he doesn’t want to get punctured. 

“Uh, Ryuji, a-are you okay?”

“...Yeah.”

But when Ryuji observes them again, there’s a gut-wrenching twinge of self-loathing hitting his chest. Within those orbs of brown radiates genuine interest when he looks at her, taking in every little thing that she says with an acknowledging nod.  As much as he loathes to admit it, maybe he’s wrong. People change – heck, _he’s_ changed. So, why not him? Give him the benefit of the doubt.

Ryuji tries to reserve his judgmental thoughts purely to himself, shoveling his rice ball into his mouth before storming back to his homeroom, spraying grains of rice when his foot accidentally misses a step on the narrow stairwell.

 _To:  Ren Amamiya_  
_Sent At:  12:04 P.M._

 _Yo. I don’t like him._   

But he can’t.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ryuji, you haven’t even talked to him yet. You could be wrong, you know.” ~~(He hates being told this.)~~

“But dude, I – “

“The most important thing is,” Ren advises later that night after listening to the blonde’s tirade for a full hour. His tired voice is muffled through the static as he offers his wisdom gently, “Finding out if he treats her well. If you’re _this_ curious, then ask him.”

“...I ain’t curious.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ren’s tone is challenging, putting an end to the conversation with a, “Try me.” 

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, Ryuji never does.

It’s not within his intention to eavesdrop (In the bathroom, no less, because isn’t that something girls did instead?), but he’s forgotten how much of a gossip ~~(Ann’s new boyfriend)~~ his ex-teammate is. He doesn’t emerge from the cubicle just yet; instead, he presses his ear against the metallic door as splashing water and crude laughter echoes through the musty, damp air.  

“Okay, but I mean, like, who _wouldn’t_ date Ann, though? She’s got a bangin’ body, and she’s hot.” A wolf-like whistle pierces his ears, and Ryuji squeezes his eyes shut. It’s not an assuring sound at all; jarring to the ear. “ _Total_ ego boost.”

“Dude,” Another voice chimes in sluggish disbelief. “That’s _all_ that you like about her?”

“She’s just trophy girlfriend material. What do you expect me to say? That she’s got brains to boot? She’s as dumb as a bag of rocks.”

In times like these, Ren would probably hold him back. Tell him things like, ‘ _stay calm_ ’ or ‘ _they’re not worth the trouble_ ’. True, they technically _aren’t_ , but that doesn’t mean jack shit. The audacity of them to speak about her in such callous, vile ways – 

_‘She’s worth more than all you motherfuckers combined.’_

_Inhale, Ryuji. Inhale. And exhale._

Their footsteps file out and disintegrate with the laughter and muted murmurs in the crowded hallway, teeming with lingering students, and his clenched fist finally relaxes.

 

* * *

 

 

The nurse isn’t perturbed in the slightest to see Ryuji, toeing the wooden floorboards with a sheepish grin on his face. She welcomes him in and tries to stay professional, sterilizing and cutting a large piece from the roll, but when she wraps the surgical dressing around his bleeding palm, she can’t help but let out an exasperated, “ _Another_ fight, Ryuji?”

The lie comes out easily. “Somethin’ like that.” Ryuji bites his lip, glancing down at the red-stained wound with narrowed eyes. Practice will eventually make perfect – and this logic applies to his self-composure, too.

 

* * *

 

 

On her way to the library to retrieve a reserved textbook, Ann’s steps slow to a snails’ pace when she passes the nurse’s office. She’ll recognize the familiar shoulders of the only other blonde at Shujin Academy any day, and when she peeks in, there’s no mistaking the gasp of shock that expels out her lungs as her eyes trail down his arm and fall upon the bleeding crescent moon-shaped indentations.

Her feet stumble over one another as she unconsciously backs into the wall behind her, and for the briefest second, questions whether _that_ had anything to do with her.

(No, she’s just thinking too much.) 

 

* * *

 

 

 ~~(To his relief)~~ They break up.

It happens about a week after. Out of earshot and out of everyone’s snooping eyes, hungry for drama, but it can’t be contained for too long. The classrooms are soon thick with rumours of terrible first times in bed, her slutty behaviour (The hell is that fucking nonsense?), how he didn’t manage to keep up with her presumed libido. It’s all bullshit. Ryuji doesn’t waste any time the next day during lunch break, sprinting past the crowded hallway, flying down the steep stairs from the rooftop to the first floor whilst earning himself a stern scolding from Kawakami.

He catches sight of her, still wearing those damn pigtails and that white hoodie. But something feels – off. She doesn’t seem to have that post-break-up ‘aura’ to her. Rather, she looks completely content and cheerful. Gossip aside, are people supposed to be _this_ happy?

“Yo.”

“Hey!” Eyes alight, she suggests, “Let’s grab food after school!” 

 

* * *

 

 

As she watches Ryuji grill the shiny slivers of pork belly into crispy brown strips that afternoon, she says with a hand supporting her chin, “It’s not even much of a break-up.” An eyebrow quips upward, urging her to continue, and she does, adding an afterthought. “I didn’t even like him that much. We went out on like _two_ dates! Both, by the way, were terrible. Don’t be like him!”

She talks, bitterly so about how he displayed no charms and frankly, no appeal whatsoever. “I swear, let’s call Ren-Ren back and get him to summon Arsene. This way, he could teach him a thing or two about learning how to treat a girl nicely!” And in response, he laughs. This time, it’s not strained. Rather, it’s airy and bright.

“Yo, you guys held hands, though.”

“Ryuji, get over it!” She helps him cut up the pieces into smaller segments, saying matter-of-factly, “Holding hands doesn’t _really_ mean anything, okay? If it makes you feel better, he was all sweaty and gross and smelled like grass all the time.” 

“Nah, Ann. I think you’re just tryna tell me that I stink, too.”  

“No! He’s him, and you’re _you_!” She argues hotly. “You’re tremendously better!”

Tremendously better, huh? He knows he shouldn’t be cocky, but when she says things like that, how could he _not_ feel a sense of pride?

They don’t talk much more about the quote-unquote ‘non-break-up', but Ryuji’s okay with that. And by the time their bellies are full, the sun’s already on the verge of setting, spreading a warm glow of pink and red in the skies. Underneath the peaceful Thursday twilight, Ryuji – not one to be any form of religious – mumbles a quick prayer to whatever heavenly being exists (So long as it wasn’t Yaldabaoth, that bitch):  Whether Ann’s relationships end up short-lived or long-term, if it _has_ to end, it should end with her smiling through it all.

~~(Because her cryin’ face just ain’t cute. Yeah, that’s right. That's all.)~~

Passing by a bakery on the trek back to the station, Ryuji suddenly stops in front of the storefront and, after a few minutes marveling over the intricately made desserts, asks for a decadent raspberry mille-feuille and a rich chocolate gateau. The shop owner, a middle-aged woman with a polite grin tugged back, busily prepares the box, and Ann suddenly slings a casual arm over his shoulders. She pulls him in close, the comforting warmth exuding from her body absorbing into his own – it causes his breath to hitch in with uneasiness.

 ~~(Is this what Ren felt when he and Makoto had exchanged their first kisses when he still lived in Tokyo?)~~  

“Aren’t you a sweet guy? Are you getting one for your mom?” She asks, shaking him out of his stupor while examining the display.

“Uh.” Sudden self-consciousness slowly pricks up his neck, and for a moment, he doesn’t notice the kindly woman waving at him to pick up the pastry box, tied together with a silk ribbon. Ann prods him back to reality with a tickling poke to his side. “My mom doesn’t like sweet stuff. And besides – “

He shoves the box to her with both hands, completely lacking in grace and any traits characteristic of a gentleman, and she glances up at him, befuddled. “It’s uh, custom, right? That girls eat cake after a break-up?”

“Ryuji!” Why she sounds appalled, he’s not exactly sure. “I’m not even upset!”

He stares back, equally affronted. Jesus. Was it just him? Or were girls difficult to understand? “Y-you _sound_ upset _now_!”

“Yeah, because you’re spending unnecessary money!” 

“T-take it, anyway!” Ryuji retorts. “I – I don’t even _like_ sweets, so you gotta finish it for me!”

To which she barks back, “ _Calories_!”

“ ** _Fuck_** that!”

Five minutes of this, back and forth, but eventually, she gives in with a reluctant frown on her face. “C’mon, stop lookin’ at me like that!” He whines, wheedling with his palms pressed together and completely missing the way her earnest blue eyes graze over his wound with just a hint of worry. “Just _eat_ the damn cake!”

The frown inevitably gives way to a small smile. Ryuji still thinks ~~(she’s)~~ it’s pretty, and when he exhales, his breaths feel a little lighter than they have been the past few days.

“Ugh, fine!” He could make do without her grunt because had it been someone like Haru or even Futaba, they would’ve graciously accepted it without a complaint. 

But since it’s Ann, well, he’ll make an exception just this once. “Good.”

“Oh, and by the way!” She adds boisterously, returning to her loud, noisy self with her hand extended outward. The next minute, the slightest pressure is detected against his bandaged hand, with slender fingers prodding the gauze obstructing his mobility.

He’s never held a girls’ hand. Ever. Much less hold _Ann’s_ hand. Despite his initial thoughts that he would’ve recoiled in disgust, there’s a part of him that prevents him from doing so. Rather, the foreign sensation leaves the underlying nerves jolting – almost in pleasure.

She mistakes the wince that flashes momentarily across his face as discomfort, or that she’s being too rough. Releasing her tight hold on him, his hand dangles in the air, clutching at nothing while she mumbles a faint apology. Same old Ann:  Always too thoughtful and loving for her own good.    

 _He_ hopes she knows it’s not her fault. Well, partially, it is:  The weird thing is, this delightful tingling isn’t from pain. It feels like something else – something that causes an explosion of butterflies to implode in the pit of his stomach. But the moment her hand is retracted, he finds himself inexplicably wanting her to hold it again.

That gap just doesn’t feel – _right_. Almost empty, as if she were meant to fit in between his calloused fingers.

“I’ve um, I've been meaning to ask. I saw you in the nurse’s office the other day. What happened to your hand?”

_Oh. Shit._

And then her words echo in the back of his mind like a rewinding cassette tape:  _Right, right. Holding hands ain’t shit._

“Eh. It’s nothin’. Trust me.”

“Are you sure?”

 _Why does she keep askin’? Damnit, Ann._ “Okay, it’s nothin’ that won’t heal. Happy?” The deceptive reassurance he projects into his voice seems to keep her concerns at bay, and he adds as a final confirmation with a cheery thumbs-up, “Don’t worry! I ain’t dyin’ just yet!”

“Mm, alright.” She doesn’t probe anymore, thank God. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

~~(It’s not okay.)~~

Staggering a few steps behind, Ann’s grin fades into oblivion as she watches Ryuji skip ahead with a lighthearted pep to his step, his muscular arms folded behind his head as always. She can’t quite put her finger on it, but ever since their last outing together back in August, something feels – off about him. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have bothered to ask, because despite receiving an answer, it doesn’t do much to resolve her concerns. It doesn’t feel complete, as if he were deliberately harboring some dark secret that he couldn’t – or perhaps, was unwilling to share. The former, she finds much more bearable.

The latter, she finds much worse, leaving behind a frosty chill that freezes her insides.

They were – no, they _are_ friends, aren’t they?

 

* * *

 

 

December is generally a busy time for practically everyone. The students are swamped with last-minute assignments and final examinations for the semester ( _Especially_ that dreaded English exam). Honestly, it’s not like Ryuji will ever step out of the country for work. He already knows the basics of thank-you, hello and good-bye like the back of his own hand. What good would it do for him to know how to write a five-page essay? And for it to be single-spaced, too. _Fuck_.

December, however, is also a time of festivities and celebrations. Christmas is fast approaching, which means dazzling illuminations are installed, making the city streets sparkle in hues of white and periwinkle-blues as if all the stars had just descended from the night sky. Evergreen trees decorated with the brightest lights are erected, twenty feet tall, as mainstage centerpieces in packed plazas.

But despite the mobs crowding the cash registers making last-minute purchases for gifts and the floods of people occupying the central plaza of Shibuya crossing on a frosty Christmas Eve, Ryuji finds himself ambling up and down the sidewalk, muttering excuse me and I’m sorry to passerby’s that he accidentally hits while feeling incredibly lonely.

Futaba and Yusuke – they were off in Akihabara, doing God knows what. Buying her yet another Featherman figurine after he broke one of them, maybe. Makoto’s aboard the one o’clock _shinkansen_ , speeding past miles and miles of white-dusted farmland to spend her holidays with Ren. Haru’s busily attending _yet_ another corporate meeting – and on Christmas Eve, too! That girl could never catch a damn break. Everybody seemed to be engaged with something. All, except him.

Wallowing in self-pity is completely out of character for him. And despicably pathetic. It’s _fucking_ pathetic.

But on a day like today, his video games and the _shonen_ manga that his mother had politely asked him to tidy up for the umpteenth time didn’t suffice as an ideal companion in the slightest.

Instead, he scrolls through his mobile: Up and down, down and up, over and over and over again. His thumb eventually tires, settling hesitantly over the three-lettered name sitting at the top of his contacts list. It’s not like she’s _that_ important – things like alphabetical order exist, after all.

~~(But the thing is, she _is_ that important). ~~

_Fuck it._ He presses it, anyway.

Upon the fifth ring – Ryuji on the verge of giving up – Ann’s voice greets him in that hallmark jovial lilt. They’re separated by at least a few miles, but already, he feels significantly less forlorn, his heart less heavy. “Merry early Christmas! What’s up?”

Straight to the point, Ryuji is. “Y’know,” He drawls, rubbing the nape of his neck with nervous energy spilling out of his lungs. Perceptive as she may be, he hopes that she doesn’t pick it up. Or even if she does, she misrecognizes it for some other negative emotion. “If you don’t have any plans for tomorrow, we could always hang out.”

His proposal seems to startle her. “Wait, what?”

“As friends! _Friends_!” He repeats hysterically. “We watch a movie as friends. And we go out to eat and shit as friends!”

~~(He’s alright with calling it a date, too.)~~

On the opposite side of the city sits Ann, palming her forehead in front of her bathroom mirror with a defeated laugh. “Uh, phrasing, Ryuji!”

(Is this a date? ~~Most probably not. He’s already written her off as a potential girlfriend, anyway.)~~

 

* * *

 

 

Ryuji isn’t used to celebrating Christmas with so many changes all in one day.

The first, most notably, is that Ann’s discarded the elastics in her hair. She rarely ever lets it down; only on special occasions. Admittedly, she’s a pretty girl already; that style just adds some a dash of charismatic flair to her facial features, reminding him of that blonde Disney princess. Rapunzel, was it?

“Just for today!” She announces with a cocked eyebrow and a wink, brushing it past her shoulders and letting it flick his nose. “Treat it as a privilege!”

“God, Ann! I don’t need a mouthful of your smelly-ass hair!”

~~(Lies. He wants to fix the stray strands sticking up and help her flatten it down; wants to run his hand through its length; wants to play a drama protagonist and tuck her hair behind her ears and watch her cheeks tinge and tint into a lovely rose.)~~

The second, they get mistaken as a couple. Once, while he dawdled behind her idly as she examined the vibrant stack of make-up products (Were lipsticks seriously _that_ important?) lined neatly in three rows. Twice, when the professional waitress cordially suggested the couples’ meal set to share (“It includes a strawberry chiffon cake!”) – and subsequently apologized profusely, flushing much to her chagrin, for the misidentification. And thrice, standing at the front of the line in Asakusa, clutching brightly-coloured _omamori_ they had bought for one another as gifts. His, one in a deep shade of yellow wishing for _kanai-anzen_ ; hers, a brocade bag decorated with white peonies on red.    

The third, the fact that he’s not repulsed at the idea. Well, it’s not that Ryuji had anything to complain about, he thinks to himself while pocketing the charm into his pocket:  Having his attractive classmate attached at his hip with her arm linked around his own.

As friends though, he reiterates. _Purely_ as friends. And as her friend, appreciating her overall presence and their time together is just second nature.

Ryuji watches her tie the amulet to her bag. “Didn’t expect ya to start using it _that_ quickly, Tacky-lookin’ Takamaki. Can I call you that from now on?”

“ _I_ think it looks cute!” Ann argues with a huffy pout. “And besides, I’ve only got six more months left before graduation! I need all the help I can get!” With the knot tied properly around the strap, she adds quietly, “You never seemed like such a thoughtful guy, Ryuji. Thanks for getting this one for me. You had to fight all those single women for one.”

“Don’t thank me yet!” He warns teasingly, flicking her forehead. “Say that only when it lands you the guy ya want.”

~~(And the fourth, he hopes it’s defective.)~~

 

* * *

 

 

The charm apparently worked wonders about a month into the new semester. It’s probably even earlier than that – Ryuji’s sure that something was up on New Year’s Eve. It’s just that Ann didn’t want to jinx the budding feelings.

_From:  Ann Takamaki  
Sent At:  7:32 P.M._

_Are you still free this weekend? He wants to meet you!_

Ryuji wonders if she kept the amulet, or whether her new boyfriend had asked her to dispose it into the garbage.

_From:  Ryuji Sakamoto  
Sent At:  7:40 P.M._

_Yep, Saturday works._

 

* * *

 

 

Ryuji stands at five foot nine. His hair doesn’t always sit perfectly atop his head.

 _He_ , however, towers at six feet with a stylish undercut that was always brushed, swept to the side and seemingly well-kempt without excessive hair gel.  

Ryuji’s never stepped a single foot outside of Japan, preferring to stay within his tiny comfort zone of ramen and beef bowls.

 _He’s_ been to all sorts of places, his favourite destination being the foreign, exotic land of Spain – or was it France? It’s not like Ryuji pays attention in geography. It’s just Europe, anyway.

Ryuji still drinks chocolate milk straight from the carton as breakfast when he’s running late.

 _He_ sprinkles two teaspoons of sugar into his coffee. And he owns a French press (Whatever the hell that was; Ren might be able to forge a closer friendship with this guy than he ever could). Such refined taste.

Ryuji reads and enjoys gory imagery from Attack on Titan and Tokyo Ghoul, listens to Japanese rock and sets the background of his mobile to one of the cuter members from AKB48.

 _He_ reads three-hundred paged novels within a week, has the audacity to form an unpopular book club that hosts meetings at the end of each month and has a playlist dedicated to the likes of Sam Smith and Ed Sheeran.

So, that’s Ann’s type, then. No surprises there:  After all, this was somebody that her _very best friend_ – the reserved, unassuming Shiho – had recommended, and any person that has Shiho’s stamp of approval must be a moral, upstanding person. Most importantly, he’s someone that would know how to treat Ann well.

And unlike her first failure, Ann seems to like him too. The way her eyes sparkle and light up like Summer festival fireworks – both figuratively and metaphorically – when her gaze falls upon his chiseled jawline, and when he talks, she chimes in with a laugh. A real one, by the way.

No doubt he’s a looker, but intuition tells Ryuji that she didn’t fall just for his physical attributes. There’s that smile that exudes sincere attraction, and that air of politeness when he extends his arm out to shake Ryuji’s hand firmly:  The blonde can’t muster up enough resentment ~~(Why would he, though?)~~ to be rude.  

 “I hear that you’re her oldest friend, Ryuji.”

“Nah, that ain’t true. Shiho’s known her much longer than I have.”

It’s small talk about this and that:  Ann’s likes and dislikes, how they became a couple (He had boldly decided to pursue her after seeing her two-paged photoshoot in that girly fashion magazine that Ann loved to read during her spare time) and – Ryuji holds his breath for any type of answer – what he likes about her.

“I think she’s radiant. Both in appearance and personality. She just really takes a shine to you, doesn’t she?”

“That’s – “ Not what Ryuji was expecting the boy to say. No, not at all.

But when his words finally make it to his brain and processes, the heavy weight that had been anchoring down within his lungs finally evaporates. Whatever initial suspicions that he had harbored, whatever vulgar and foul remarks he had originally saved and reserved to snipe at him– he can’t bring himself to say any of it.

At last, he can breathe easy.

(Or, not easy. Just a tad _easier_.)

“For real, man? That’s a hell of a good answer.”

Thinking about it, that’s the _only_ acceptable answer.

 

* * *

 

 

They part ways after they pay for their tabs separately. Albeit, Ann noticed. She’s not stupid.

She had noticed the way that Ryuji almost said, “ _Together_ ” as if it were intuitive, but he caught himself in the nick of time, masking his mistake with that same goofy grin he shoots at her on the daily.

“I’ll see you guys another time! Oh, and Ann! I’ll see ya Monday, alright?!”

“Oh, uh, okay!”

Yes. She _will_ see him on Monday when he saunters into her homeroom, separated from his by a turn of the corner and a classroom wall, as per usual. They’ll have their one-hour lunch break with Mishima; she’ll chide him for picking at his roasted vegetables; he’ll attempt to steal that package of Pocky from her bag. No differences there.

Yet, even with their proximity, it feels as if they’re slowly, but surely, drifting apart. That loud-mouthed, crass Ryuji was nowhere in sight today. Where was he? In hiding? It just didn’t seem like him to have so little to say.

That space between them; Ann had detected it many months back, but it’s unbearably obvious now. How did – how _could_ she let it grow to be so alarmingly large? As if she didn’t even know him, anymore?

He slinks his fingers around hers in a tight grip, squeezing it faintly to bring her out of her daze. “Ready to go, Ann?”

“O-of course!” Somehow, his elegant piano hands feel so incredibly foreign.

And all the while, her eyes never leave the retreating back of the once jolly and energetic youngster, growing more minuscule before disappearing behind the fare gates and down the escalator altogether.    

 

* * *

 

 

From that point onward, Ryuji’s daily vocabulary begins to change.

‘ _For real_ ’ becomes ‘ _Is he treatin’ you all right?_ ’

Yes is her default answer.

Five times a week – every single day, right on the dot.

 _‘What the shit’_ becomes _‘Tell me if he ain’t, okay?’_

Okay, she says, exasperatedly so.

 _‘Yo, you busy today?’_ becomes ‘ _Damn, Ann. No more eyeshadow, okay? You look like you got punched. But I see you, you goin’ on a date today, huh? S’all good. Let’s grab food another day.’_

And many times, she’s actually _not_ , but she can’t get the last word in. Ryuji already has his escape route planned, fleeing beautifully with a transfixing grin, his bag slung carelessly over his shoulder with his books threatening to spill out ~~(Just like his feelings that he can’t seem to keep under control the longer he looks at her)~~ and an irksome excuse.

 

* * *

 

 

One wintry February morning, just twenty-four hours before Valentine’s Day (And about three weeks after that dreaded initial meeting), Ryuji receives a phone call. He picks up, only for a steel-flinted voice to greet him.

“Hello Ryuji.”

“Miss Prez?” Well, _that’s_ a surprise. He rests his legs on the surface of his desk, littered with notebooks and eraser bits and an open bag of chips, asking, “Hey, what’s up? I haven’t heard from ya for a while. University is still goin’ good?”

A pause. And then, a heavy-hearted sigh. The lopsided beam Ryuji has on his face quickly falls when he hears her murmur, “I’m fine.” He knows Makoto well enough by now that when she says it, she’s feeling otherwise.

“You ain’t here to just ask me how I’m doin’, are ya?”

“Ryuji. There’s something I need to inquire you about.” Another pause. Why does this seem so serious? Was Ren encountering some trouble back home? “Please, do not take this as me intruding upon your personal affairs.”

 _Oh._ “You could always, y’know,” He grumbles. “Stay outta it.”

Almost immediately, he regrets the snappy words that leave his mouth.  And it isn’t until when Makoto coughs out a choke that the pregnant silence between the two is broken. But knowing Makoto’s strong-headed personality, clearly, she isn’t going to back down until she gets a proper answer. “Ann says that you’ve changed somehow.”

She doesn’t pose this as a question; it’s a statement. A statement that Ryuji knows god damn well that it’s full of truth.

“She’s just – “ The damn excuses again, dribbling out of his lips in a jumbled stammer. When had Ann sensed it? “She’s just imaginin’ things.“

Another bullshit excuse, in which Ryuji cannot ascertain whether it was said to comfort himself, or for her. Maybe it was for the both of them.

“Here’s an idea. How about you look her in the eye and say it, Ryuji?”

~~(He can’t. He can’t handle it.)~~

Instead, he shuts off the phone with a click. There’s only dead silence soon after.

That’s all he’s been ever good at:  Running away.

His problems included.

 

* * *

 

 

“Seriously, Makoto?” Ann replies in deep disbelief. She won’t believe it. She doesn’t _want_ to believe it. “He just told you, _I’m imagining it all_?”

“Yes,” The older woman replies, deflated. Even Makoto sounds remorseful when delivering the news to her. Ann gnaws on her lower lip, letting a muffled sigh subconsciously echo into the other end of the receiver. “Perhaps I was being a bit too blunt with my words and offended him somehow. I’m sorry that I wasn’t of much help. I should’ve been a bit gentler.”

“No. Not at all.” Although, she now realizes that it was probably a poor idea to bring a third party into this. This – whatever _this_ is. She calls it missing the friend that she’s always treasured –but, maybe it’s too late to call it that now.

(This semblance of ‘sort-of-love-but-not-really-love.’)

God. She has such a fickle heart.

How ironic; during her stint with the Phantom Thieves, she thought that their collective drive and righteousness they attempted to emulate had strengthened her own resolve.

But she realizes now:  Feelings don’t exactly apply here. There’s no black-and-white to this – especially when it involves a loud-mouthed delinquent who had purposefully dyed his hair from black to bright blonde just so she would feel less lonely at a new school.

“That’s okay,” Ann replies at last. “Thank-you, anyway.”

She receives a text message from him later that night, wishing for her to have a safe and happy Valentine’s Day and whether they had made special plans together.

By default, her fingers press three keys and subsequently, ‘Send’.

And instantaneously:

_‘Good guy, he is. Glad to hear he’s taking care of ya.’_

 

* * *

 

 

He does. He really, _really_ does. There's not much that she can complain about.

He paid for their train tickets to _Yokohama_ , enjoyed a walk around the harbor – even though yes, it does sting his insides a little bit when he purposefully collides his hand into hers, and she recoils with the slightest hint of panic at his touch. Whatever she wanted to eat (Or frankly, looked at for more than five seconds), he bought without any questions asked.

He showered her with gifts, too. A bouquet of yellow and red roses from the florists’ in the underground mall where Ren used to work; white balloons in one hand and a box of _matcha_ -flavoured truffles in the other, a box of pastries from Sapporo.

But that’s the thing. It’s too much, too _extravagant_ , too overwhelming for a relationship that was still in that shy, timid phase of getting to know one another.

(Ryuji would never be this thoughtful, that idiot. He doesn’t know how to treat a girl; he’ll eat his red bean _manjyu_ with a slobbery gulp, lacking all class and refinement – but Ann prefers him that way.)

Ann doesn’t dare look up into his eyes when she seats him down at one of the benches with its paint chipped in various spots, overlooking the harbor and the salty sea. Because deep down, she knows it’s in poor taste to have to be the bearer of bad news on a day like this.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” His voice trembles, a little unsure, full of doubt as his long hands clench and unclench the fabric of his trousers with unease. What a contrast compared to that fateful day when he had asked her if she would be willing to accompany him on a first date. “I’m not enough?”    

And regardless of whatever promises he tells her that he’ll try to fulfill to her hearts’ content, they _still_ break-up on Valentine’s Day.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

It's not that he's not enough. God, no. It's more so that he'll just never fulfill Ryuji's place. 

 

* * *

 

 

A few days after Valentine’s Day, it’s a recognizable, shrill scream and a loud bellow that captures his attention at the end of the school day.

He pushes his way through the students gathered at the main entrance of Shujin Academy, his footsteps impatiently loud as he finally bursts out in between two girls (One of them, being the head of the newspaper club, her pen hard at work, scribbling in cursive). Things never change, do they? He thinks to himself with his blood pounding in his ears.

But all that leaves his mind quickly when he witnesses what was happening.

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch her!”

And he has a throbbing bruise sitting above his eyebrow and a stinging lip, bleeding from the corners, to prove it.

 

* * *

 

 

Hot-headed; headstrong; pigheaded; stubborn; easily riled up. No matter what term Ann decides to use, the definition is ultimately synonymous to him being a stupid idiot that likes to react before thinking about any short-term or long-term consequences.

Contrary to what one might believe, Ryuji doesn’t get involved in too many fights at school. The first incident had involved Kamoshida, and that bastard had not only stolen the _only_ thing that gave the young boy joy – but had destroyed his reputation amongst his classmates and whatever credibility that he had left.

But today – _now_ :  Her throat clenches, and her eyes water as blurs of red and black pummels against navy-blue and checkered green. She wants to call out to him to tell him to stop, but would he even listen?

Whoever attacks first, she’s not too sure. The only thing that she had felt was a yank to the side, and the next thing that met her sight was Ryuji was standing in front of her protectively. She’s dreamt of scenarios like these before, normally in her deepest nights of sleep where she’d smile secretly to herself about her dashing knight in shining armour – but to have this come to reality.

It horrifies her.

“Final warnin’, man. Back off!”

“Ha. I see it now. So, it’s you.”

“What are you even talkin’ about?!”

Ryuji ends up rebounding into her arms, and as she screams ballistically into his vibrating eardrums, he groans in pain, clutching his side weakly.

“No, Ryuji!” She shrieks, her pigtails tossing wildly in the air with each shake of her head. “ _Don’t_! It’s not worth it! It’s **_really_** not worth it!”

“Ann, shut up!”

She watches as Ryuji staggers towards him, only for impactful, force-filled punches to be delivered, one by one. He attacks, aiming straight at his forehead with the vicious goal of bashing his skull in, but Ryuji manages to defend himself, blocking his feeble attempts by leaping towards his legs, gathering them together and knocking the taller man off balance.

And there they are, thrown into the air like ragdolls. Down, down, down the pavement and onto the pedestrian sidewalk.

Guiltily victorious is how he feels when he squints one eye open at his opponent. There are cheers – cheers and walloping and whistling from the spectators who were watching the scuffle. God. It shouldn’t be his first priority at all, but, he grimaces as he wipes his lip with the back of his blazer, he’s won. He’s emerged the victor, but –

(At what cost?)

This is his _second_ fight. He had already made a vow to his mother that he wouldn’t deliberately cause her more grief and heartache.

The other man groans in agony, and Ryuji gets back to his feet dizzily, clutching the side of his bleeding forehead with his body threatening to keel over with each passing second –

“I – I’ve got you, Ryuji!”

It’s Ann, speaking in a frightened hush:  One that spoke of dread and terror. Grasping at his elbow and his waist, as if her life depended on it. “C-can you – ? Oh, my God. Ryuji! S-stay with me!”

“A-always the dependable one, a-aren’t ya?”

But it’s the very _fact_ that it revolved around Ann. Her, and those pigtails that she never lets down. Her, and that hoodie that she’s outgrown now.

And that’s why, apologetic and remorseful he may be for whatever aftermath he’ll have to endure, he’ll take them all on without fail.  

 

* * *

 

 

So many things.

There were so many things that he wanted to say to her:  A heartfelt apology for screwing things up (As usual, butting into other peoples’ business; what good was he for, anyway?) and for barging into a situation that he knew nothing about; concern for her well-being and if she was alright (Would he ever forgive her for this?); requests that she saves her homework assignments for him after he returned from suspension; gratitude for assisting him with his wounds (Intimately so – he noticed the way that her hand seemed to linger limply on his cheek gingerly) –

So, _so_ many things.

Little did he know, so did she:  A thank-you for rescuing her – not that she would ever need to play damsel-in-distress and wait for someone to save her in times of trouble, but that’s all she can offer right now; her worry for _him_ and oh, dear God, would her ex report Ryuji to the police?; her anger for his savage display, in front of all their peers, too and last but not least, her admiration for him.

With all things considered, she shouldn’t be approving that type of behavior – but coming from Ryuji? She can’t even fathom chastising him for this; she feels _so much more_.   

Ryuji speaks first, taking care not to accidentally touch his aching cheek. “Look. Ann.” Staring at his palms, she notes. Why can’t he even muster up the courage to look her in the eye? “I – I just couldn’t stand there and do nothin’.”

“Why?” Oh, she knows _why_. At least, she’s ninety-five percent certain why, but it’s not enough. She needs to hear him say it.

“We’re – well.” Oh, _God_. His heart is somersaulting deep within his chest. “Friends,” He finishes with a sulk. “I look after you. You look after me. That’s – kinda obvious, ain’t it?”

Ann looks squarely into his eyes, her own a penetrating, icy blue that pierces straight through his heart, leaving him defenseless. “I don’t like liars.”

To which he growls back, albeit with a weakened tenacity, “And I ain’t a fan of people who accuse me.”

And then, Makoto’s words from their earlier conversation suddenly pops back into her head. “Are you sure, Ryuji? I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that,” She demands aggressively, grabbing him by the chin with two fingers. “ _Are you sure_?” She repeats.

Their lips are so, _so_ close – to the point that he can detect the intoxicating peppermint and the lightly scented vanilla she sprays to the ends of her hair every morning.

“I – “

Frankly, he’d rather just kiss her right then and there. Although, that also instigates another question. He’ll save that for another time.

“You – ?”

And then, almost shamefully, he murmurs with newfound tenderness that leaves her melted, “I fucking messed up. And I’m sure that punch to his cocky-ass face – it betrayed everythin’.”

“How – ?”

“But that’s what happens when you like someone, ain’t it? You do all this shit – givin’ advice while watchin’ them date, watchin’ them hold hands with people that you don’t like. I hated both of ‘em, by the way. There, I said it,” He interjects, his laughter hollow.

She sits across from him, her hands now folded on her lap as his indirect confession – heart-wrenching and so, so candid – touches her soul. Damnit; things like these should be leaving her heart aflutter, not leaving her eyes wavering with tears threatening to spill. "You - like me?"

"Dunno when. Dunno how. I just - _do_."

She believes him. 

“But I guess that’s all part of that quintessential first love experience, Ann, isn't it? Pinin' and hopin' you'd be happy with those dudes, but fuck. Look at me:  I’m _shit_ at all this love stuff. I can't tell ya right from the get-go I didn't want you to."

"You could've - at least, said _something_." Ann shouldn't put all the blame on him; it's partially her fault also.

"D'you know how hard it is? This - " He gestures at the space between them haphazardly with a derisive scoff. "Tellin' you all this when I just got beat up isn't the easiest thing to do. And besides." His voice trails off, and he sets the melted ice pack back onto the table.  

"I ain’t Ren; I won’t woo you with flowers or shit like that. And I'm not some model boyfriend that girls will be jealous of you for or…”

He’s so much more self-aware than she gives him credit for. Was he always this bold and willing to wear his heart on his sleeve?

No. Perhaps this side only personified when he was with her. She’s not sure, but the very thought forces a frail, delicate smile to her lips as he rambles.

“Oh, God.” Burying his face in his palm, he mumbles, “I can’t even _think_ straight anymore. I’m way too knocked out right now.”

“Not that you ever _really_ think anyway, Ryuji.”

Before he can mutter anything else in return to lessen the blow of her backhanded insult, she forwardly places his hand on top of hers - weakly, at first, but soon enough, he gathers enough courage to intertwine his fingers in between her own like that time so many months ago.

There were still too many things left unsaid, too many feelings unsettled between them that required a proper resolution once the situation had cooled down.

But as Ann leans her forehead against his shoulder and sighs out contentedly, “But it's alright, I kinda prefer you this way", the only thing occupying Ryuji’s mind was that maybe – _just maybe_ – all that crap about requiring closure wouldn’t be necessary after all.

Besides, actions often speak louder than words.

And for the time being, just having Ann by his side would be more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> These two seriously make me SO soft, goodness (And I love good-friends-transitioning-to-lovers scenarios. Sue me). 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feedback is always welcome!


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